


It's Not A Side Effect of the Alcohol, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love

by royalstanley



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: M/M, Oblivious Bill, drunk karaoke stan, the losers are protective over their boy stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:17:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalstanley/pseuds/royalstanley
Summary: Everyone loved Stan when he was drunk.However, Bill wished people could see the parts of him that made him so great, the parts that you could see without alcohol.Turns out he's just as oblivious as the rest when it comes to his friend's true feelings.





	It's Not A Side Effect of the Alcohol, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! this is inspired by an anon who talked about stan singing 'hurry up' by superfruit + 'hey now' by the regrettes to his oblivious boy!
> 
> hope you enjoy!
> 
> find me on tumblr: royalstanley

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” The losers yelled, encouraging Stan to drink his beer in two seconds flat. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed, and his face was flushed from the sudden rush of alcohol. Liquid dribbled from his mouth and he wiped it away with a grin, holding up the glass triumphantly as Mike threw his arm around him and ruffled his hair. “Stanley actually being wild for once, what’s up with that?” Richie reached for his hand over the table and Stan shook it mock seriously. 

“Can’t I just chug beer for the hell of it?”

His smile was easy going, cocky, different to the gentle smile he always adopted when sober.

 

“A  _ normal _  person could do that, sure, but not mini-adult over here,” Beverly laughed, also reaching over the table to tickle Stan. He jerked backwards and shrieked - whenever he was drunk, he had no problem with contact, which only made it easier to tickle him. The bar was quite busy, so his laughter was concealed by the obnoxious activities of others. Richie, Bill and Mike had decided not to drink (Richie never did anyway, he made Beverly create non-alcoholic cocktails so he didn’t feel left out), so instead sipped at their sodas and quietly judged the rest. Eddie’s cheeks were bright red and he couldn’t stop giggling; he was holding onto his cocktail as tightly as possible and leaning on Ben, who in turn was clinging onto Bill.

 

“You’re so strong, Bill,” Ben hiccuped, looking up at him admiringly and smiling when there was a chorus of  _ yeah! _ s around him.

Bill was on the stool next to him and was staggering from the weight of both Eddie and Ben against him, so he shakily patted him on the head and smiled. “T-Thanks.”

Beverly slammed her palms on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Shots! We need shots!”

“Yeah!” Stan yelled, drumming on the table to accompany her insistent shouting. “But make them taste nice, this time. I want to at least taste strawberries while I’m puking.”

Eddie nodded seriously and pointed at Stan. “He gets it!”

“He gets it!” Ben repeated, also pointing at him. Stan tilted his head back and closed his eyes, smiling and pretending to revel in the attention. There was a flurry of motion, and Beverly was getting up from the booth with Mike behind her. Without a second thought he gestured to his back - Beverly, being courteous, removed her heels and jumped onto him, causing him to hold onto her thighs. “To the alcohol!” Mike didn’t even sway with the weight, which was probably why he offered to carry everyone.

 

Bill coughed awkwardly as he sat with Richie. His friend didn’t mind that everyone else drank, but sometimes the losers tended to forget exactly why he didn’t drink himself. When Richie felt his gaze burning into him, he shoved the taller boy. “I can hear you thinking, Billy-boy. And I’m fine. They’re happy. They won’t hurt me.”

“A-Are you shuh-shuh-sure? I c-can take you h-h-home…”

“I forget what a fucking mother hen you can be when you’re not fucked out of your mind. I’m okay. Let’s watch them be idiots - I haven’t had a decent snapchat story with them in it for a while.”

 

He relaxed as he watched Richie wrestle his phone out of his pocket and aim his camera at the approaching figures of Beverly and Mike: they had somehow managed to come back with a tray of ten shots balanced precariously on Mike’s head, as Beverly was still being carried.

“Don’t drop the precious cargo!” Stan slurred, leaping up and grabbing the tray from it’s terrifying resting place. It was charming to see him so enthusiastic - when sober he was quietly cheery, and you could only catch him dancing around like he was now when he was alone, and really comfortable. It's not like the group preferred one side of Stan over the other; it was just good to see as many aspects of him as possible. One part of drunk Stan was being selfish with alcohol - before Eddie, Ben and Beverly had a chance, he threw back three shots. The garish blue colour of the drink had splashed onto his white shirt, and had also blended into his denim jacket.

“Whoopsie,” he mumbled, clumsily pawing at his clothes then sinking down into the cushioned seats.

 

He didn’t notice Bill’s eyes immediately being drawn to his stomach as he rubbed at his shirt, causing the fabric to hitch up and reveal skin. Stan was arching his back, only pulling it back further, and he could see bruises leading all the way up from his chest to his neck. The sight made Bill shift uncomfortably and force himself to look away, instead focusing on Eddie and Ben attempting to serve each other their shots. Like Stan, it ended in disaster. The blue mess came cascading out of their mouths, and when they laughed it only made them choke on the excess that they were trying to swallow.

“I think as the night goes on, it’ll be easier for us sober people to pretend we don’t know the rest of you,” Mike laughed, taking the glasses from Eddie and Ben and placing them on the table. Tears were streaming down their cheeks as they reached for more shots. It was too late - Beverly and Stan were downing the last two. The laughter stopped as Eddie shrieked, “We paid for those equally and we only got one each!”

The pair leaned against each other and clinked their empty glasses together. “At least we can put ours in our mouths.”

“That’s what she said!” Richie hollered, and Beverly and Stan offered him a three-way high five.

The night carried on like that: Bill admiring Stan’s effortless beauty despite him being unable to string a sentence together, Beverly trying to flirt with Ben as much as possible to see how red he would get, and Richie and Eddie taking turns getting piggybacks from Mike. It was only around 10pm when bar staff began to set up for karaoke night. Bill groaned internally - Richie and Beverly were singing partners, and it almost always ended in a microphone being broken. Richie stood up and cleared his throat dramatically. “As is tradition, Bev and I will be-”

“No!” Stan cried. “I’m doing it.” He’d stood up, standing on his tiptoes and trying to tower over him.

“What?”

“I have things- things that I want to say,” he mumbled, an embarrassed flush creeping onto his cheeks rather than a drunken one.

“I mean, you could say ‘em instead of sing ‘em, but sure. We’ll go on after you.”

Stan saluted him sloppily and waltzed over to the DJ. Bill wanted to chase after him, put his arm around him so he was steady, offer to take him home and tuck him into bed with a glass of water. It would be easy to be so domestic with him - however, the bruises that were littered on his chest from someone else put that fantasy on hold.

He looked a complete mess, but in the best way possible: his denim jacket was hanging off of him, and his white shirt was rumpled, the bruised skin still exposed. Tight black jeans clung to his legs and left Bill’s mouth dry. Stan licked his lips mischievously as he whispered into the ear of the DJ and grabbed the mic, waving at the losers and running his hands through his disheveled hair. He winked, too, but that seemed to just be directed at Bill. The idea of Stan actually being attracted to him was ridiculous, so he just waved it away and blamed it on the shots.

The track started and everyone leaned forward interestedly. “Any idea what he’s gonna sing?” Ben asked.

Richie shook his head. “Something ridiculous, probably.”

When the track began to play, Stan steadied himself and got ready.

 

_ One foot in, one foot out _

_ One moment away from shutting down _

_ I'm too complete to need something _

_ From someone who's not on my frequency _

 

He usually had a nice voice, it had a lullaby quality to it, but now it was loud and the lyrics were being more yelled than sang. “Oh god,” Beverly whispered. Even Eddie looked pained, and he couldn’t think straight. Stan, however, was having the time of his life. He was bouncing up and down on the spot as he held onto the mic with a tight grip - already the DJ looked like he was considering throwing him out. When it came to the chorus, Stan’s gaze was immediately fixed on Bill.

 

_ All these other boys _

_ They're just not enough _

_ So talk to me, come to me, hurry up _

_ Hey baby, I've never been in love _

_ But I wanna be, I wanna be, so hurry up _

_ Yeah, woah _

_ Talk to me, come to me, hurry up _

_ Yeah, woah _

_ Talk to me, come to me, hurry up _

 

He was gesturing to his friend, making silly gestures and trying his best to look seductive despite how inebriated he was. Bill could only watch as Stan made a come-hither gesture when he sang  _ talk to me, come to me, hurry up  _ \- should he go up there? Is he asking Bill to keep him steady as he sang about some unknown guy? The idea made him feel queasy, so instead he sat on his stool, avoiding his eyes. For some reason he heard a frustrated growl coming from Stan that travelled into the mic rather than lyrics.

 

_ It's four AM, I'm drunk again _

_ About to leave with someone I just met _

_ He's insecure, immature _

_ All these in betweens are too much work _

 

Bill couldn’t not look, so on the line  _ about to leave with someone I just met _ , he saw Stan rucking up his shirt and running his hands over the bruises left there from nights before. His eyes drifted up to Stan’s face, and he was looking at him challengingly, eyebrows raised. Everyone else’s expressions seemed to mirror his as they also looked at Bill.

“You do realise whats going on, right?”

“Wh-What?”

“He’s singing about you, dumbass!” Eddie said way too loudly, knocking over a glass from his exaggerated hand gestures.

 

_ So if you got what it takes _

_ Then baby don't hesitate _

_ Hey, just blow me away _

_ I'm waiting _

_ Don't need no false promises _

_ Someone who knows who he is _

_ Someone who's ready for this cause it's waiting _

 

“I d-d-don’t think so,” Bill said, looking up nervously. Then again, Stan’s eyes hadn’t left his since the song began. His shouting into the mic was getting more desperate, his movements more grand, and he was very close to falling off of the edge of the stage.

“Okay, maybe we should go get him,” Mike said quietly.

“I don’t think he’s gonna go that easy,” Richie sighed, pointing towards the drunken mess in question. While they were talking the song had ended, and Stan was whispering in the DJ’s ear once more. He reluctantly played another track.

 

_ Hey now, what's your name? _

_ You're really cute and really nice _

_ I think we should go on a date _

_ Oh, hey now! You've got it going on _

_ Hey now, you're like my favorite song _

 

This time Stan’s face looked more pained.

“Jesus fucking christ, Bill, are you that dense?” Beverly snapped, but not maliciously.

“I d-don’t know what yuh-yuh-you want me t-to do!”

 

_ Oh baby, you got me going crazy _

_ Oh baby, I want you now now now now now now now _

_ Oh save me, won't you help me? _

_ 'Cause baby, I want you now now now now now now now _

 

Stan was pulling off his denim jacket and snatching a beer out of someone’s hand at the front of the crowd. Despite the yelling, he just winked at the victim and downed the last of the liquid. His eyes were glazed over, his lips were wet, and if he were sober, he would never want to be seen like this. The gang were all just spectators to this show; the rest of the people in the bar seemed to be enjoying it, and Stan certainly was. No one actually realised just how alluring he could be - it was easy to see the cool, collected exterior, and if you didn’t bother to get to know him you didn’t get to see the best parts, like his surrealist humour and love for musicals. It almost made Bill angry that these people were only fawning over the drunk version of him, when every part of him deserved to be appreciated. The fun-loving nature of both Stan and the song paused when he was no longer singing - instead, he was crying into the microphone.

 

“I’m just-  _ shit _ ,” he sobbed, the mic barely catching the sentence. His rockstar image was ruined as he looked completely devastated; the hair that seemed to surround him like a halo was limp and covering his face, and his shoulders were shaking.

“What’s w-wrong with huh-huh-him?” Bill just wanted to hold him close, and he could barely choke out his question.

Ben opened his mouth to speak, but all of their attention was on Stan running to the bathroom, dropping the microphone and tripping over his own feet.

 

“Bill?”

“Hm?”

“Aren’t you going to follow him?”

Bill frowned. “Ri-Ri-Richie is his b-best friend. He’ll w-w-want him there.”

Richie threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly and stood up. “Sure, I’ll hold his hair back while he’s blabbering about you.”

He walked towards the bathroom as the losers spun around and fixed their gaze on Bill. Beverly slung her arm around Mike’s shoulders and looked at him seriously - she sobered up freakishly fast. “You’re so clueless.”

“Stop i-insulting me fo-for no reason!”

“She has a point,” Mike murmured. “Stan’s obviously head over heels for you. I’m surprised it took him this long to make it so clear.”

Eddie and Ben nodded vigorously.

“Th-That’s not true. He’s b-b-been with other guys.” His mind immediately went to the hickeys that had been printed on his body.

“And why do you think that is?”

Bill shook his head. “It’s not puh-ossible. I’m going to s-s-see how he is.” Half the reason he was doing that was so he could avoid their judgemental, burning stares.

 

He could still feel them following his movements as he pushed the door that led to the bathroom and found Stan puking in the toilet. Richie was behind him, rubbing his back and making him laugh as he gagged. The loud slapping noise of the soles of his sneakers against the tiled floor made Richie look up. “Finally,” he snorted, ruffling Stan’s hair and leaving the vicinity as fast as possible.

The sobbing from earlier was replaced by groans of pain and swearing. Maybe that was an improvement, maybe not.

“Stan?”

“Mmmf.”

It was instinct to mirror his posture, and suddenly Bill was crouching down next to him and pulling a face at the sticky floor. It was also instinct to stroke his back, and to shuffle closer.

“What took you so long?” Stan mumbled.

“I d-didn’t think you wan-wanted me here.”

“I always want you here. Everywhere. All the time.”

“We’re always together. We’re fr-fr-friends.”

 

Stan lifted his head up from it’s unfortunate place in the toilet bowl and glared at him. “Friends.” He said blankly.

A nod.

His drunken demeanor still hadn’t faded - he was still more honest, outgoing, and cutting.

“One day, Bill Denbrough, I’m gonna move on and you’ll have missed your chance.”

Bill blinked. “I d-didn’t know yuh-you were moving house?”

There wasn’t even an eyeroll in return - they were well past that. Instead, Stan got up (albeit shakily), and stumbled out of the bathroom.

No matter what he tried to do to reconcile, he was getting it wrong. Following seemed to be pointless; so Bill sank to the floor and sighed as the mix of alcohol and puke soaked into his jeans.

 

When he returned to the table after a few minutes of deliberating, the group were putting on their jackets. Stan had retrieved his from the stage and was letting Mike put it on for him.

“Let’s get you home. You remember home, right? Where you sleep and don't commit murderous acts?” Richie grinned - the expression felt false, and it was dropped when he looked at Bill.

Stan grumbled and let Mike pull him along by his jacket.

“I c-can drive him huh-home?” Bill suggested, making a move to get his keys out of his pocket.

“Oh, you’re such a gentleman, Bill. Well, guess what? I don’t want you to be a gentleman! I want you to fuck me in the a-”

The sentence was cut short by Eddie leaping into Stan’s space and clamping a hand over his mouth.

“What he meant, was,” Eddie said loudly, “he’s fine with Mike taking him home.”

“Okay.” Bill was withering under Stan’s furious gaze. “I’m j-just gonna go.”

Everyone clapped him on the back as he shuffled towards the door. The cold autumn air hit his face as he strolled along the pavement.

 

He thought on tonight's events. Stan accidentally lifting up his shirt, showing the hickeys that he’d apparently gotten from some stranger. His excessive drinking, something he only did when he was upset or wanted to say something that he couldn’t say sober. Finally, the whole karaoke debacle. The lyrics were flirtatious and loving, and Bill would be an idiot not to think that Stan was singing about someone he liked. It was just easier to believe that it was some ambiguous guy Stan was pining after, and not him - because if he was wrong, he’d also need a lot of alcohol and his friends to support him afterwards.

Uncharacteristically, even Richie was pissed at him; usually they knew each other so well their arguments were non-existent, but this time he obviously thought Bill had upset his best friend. Richie Tozier was calm about a lot of things, but someone hurting Stan was not one of them. He had never seen someone’s reassuring grin drop so fast than when he turned to face Bill in the bar.

Just before he reached his car, he heard the commotion of the rest of the losers. Stan was at the front with Mike, and Bill could just about make out the words spilling out of his mouth:

 

_ Doesn’t even realise I’m in love with him, what a beautiful idiot… _

 

_ You’d think after the second chorus he’d have gotten the message… _

 

The final sentence broke his heart.

 

_ Am I that unlovable? _

 

Of course, it was followed by noises of protest from his friends, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Maybe it was time for him to make an idiot out of himself rather than the other way around.

Spinning on his heel abruptly, Bill jogged up to Stan and grabbed him by the wrist. He was obviously a lot more sober now, as he looked up at him with complete clarity and an absence of drunken anger on his face.

 

“I thought you were going home.” Stan said flatly.

The rest of the losers were behind them watching with baited breath.

“I w-was. But then I ruh-realised something.” The air made Bill want to wear approximately ten thousand layers, but he couldn’t help but feel the heat rushing up to the surface and making red blossom on his cheeks.

“Which is?”

He was at a loss, and this wasn’t exactly the best place to have a conversation. But if Bill didn’t say it now, he never would.

“That...T-That when I saw y-y-you on stage up th-there I wanted to take you h-home and never leave your side. That seeing you w-with all those hickeys made m-m-me so jealous that I’m stuh-stuh-stupid for not realising what I’m about to s-say earlier.”

Before Bill could blurt it out, he paused, giving Stan time to interrupt.

“Go home, everyone,” he said, “I think we’re good.”

 

Their audience scrambled to get into Mike’s car, Richie and Beverly wolf-whistling before he could shut the door and muffle their obnoxious thoughts on the whole situation.

Stan grabbed Bill’s shaky hands and looked up into his eyes. “Go on.”

“I um- I...I th-think I’m in love w-w-with you. A-And not just b-because of tonight. Apparently I n-needed you to be drunk and cruh-cruh-crying for me to realise that, though.”

Bill expected a dramatic moment from a romance movie to occur, him taking Stan into his arms and them riding off on his noble steed (his car), but instead he was faced with a much more appealing reaction. Stan’s smile was blinding as he tugged him forwards and kissed him with as much force as was possible for someone so small.

All he could do was cup Stan’s face and stroke his cheek as they both kissed each other with a desperation that could only be possible due to months, years, even, of tension and pining.

It left him breathless. Their foreheads rested against each other as they panted and stared at each other, relief and joy evident on their faces.

“It took you long enough,” Stan sighed. “I thought I was going to have to drink the whole top shelf for you to get your head out of your ass.”


End file.
